Tales of Richmond - Part 1

My first three weeks were a well-played game of survival in the thriving Metropolis of Richmond, NSW.

Here, you think on your feet. You roll with the punches. You watch your back. One momentary lapse of concentration and you’ll be swept away in the tide of Angst-Ridden-Teen-Girls-With-Belts-For-Skirts and spat out into the Mall of Fat-Ugly-Hairy-Women-Who-Yell-At-Their-Kids. Who look like this:

I’ve had the pleasure of interacting with several of these people, along with some other special types.

First was the Chicken-Head-Lady.

I was minding my own business, off on my daily stroll down to the supermarket to scope out the inexpensive wares to see what culinary delights I was going to conjure up with just a BBQ grill, a knife and a pink silicon cake pan.

After grabbing three packets of biscuits, a packet cake mix, two Aunt Betty Sticky Date deserts, a packet of Salt & Vinegar kettles, a Cheese & Garlic pull-apart, a tub of thickened cream, a bottle of Cola (diet, of course) and a tomato, I headed to the checkout. Imagine my delight when I discovered the express aisle said “12 or Less”! 

Unlike home, at my new local there are very explicit instructions stating that you must all stand in one line, and only move to the checkout when one comes available – a bit like waiting at the bank.

I’m standing in line innocently minding my own business, thinking about my next Vodka hit, when Chicken Head Lady moves in behind me. She looks over my shoulder into my trolley, then moves around my right to head past me.

I thought she was in blatant disregard of the Express Lane Law and was about to halt her, when she stopped anyway.

Right beside my trolley.

And put her head in my trolley and counted every single item in there, head bobbing up and down like a chicken eating it’s daily ration of seeds.

When she finished, she look up to see me staring at her, then “HA!! Take THAT BITCH!! 11 items – BOOM!! What – ya think Kiwi’s can’t count?? You think I never went to school?? Shame on you and get your arse to the back of the line!”

All that was said inside my head, but she sure knew that I meant it.

Outwardly, I smiled very nicely at her then turned to watch her head back into line – then raised my eyebrow (just the one) at all the other customers waiting in line too.  

Once I finished paying for my groceries, she did too at the next checkout and we walked out at the same time.

I took one last opportunity to smirk at her smugly and silently wish that her washing gets shit on.